A Saiyan For All Seasons
by Lynnember
Summary: A detailed look at how I see Bulma and Vegeta's relationship to have progressed through that famous three year gap.
1. Chapter 1

A Saiyan For All Seasons

By Ember

Chapter One

'Something'

Disclaimer: DBZ isn't mine, but who cares? The Vegeta lusting goes on… and on. drool

Bulma looked down on the scene with equal admiration and disbelief. The warm sun settled beautifully over her father's grounds, diffusing the spell of foretold danger, and painting instead a vision of cheer and hope for the future. Swallows spun across the sky in a perfect V formation, and somewhere in the distance their cheery chorus could be heard, complimented by the putter of a distant plane engine.

The warm rays seeped into her skin and made her feel a kind of refined satisfaction in herself. The last six months had been something extraordinary in their trials. They had finality, the close of a life that had long since lost its light to the torn drum of maturity. They had also had risk and deathly company, swayed by her invitation and her guest's dark soul.

Her first love had been lost, but the friendship it had been transported into in its place more than made up for any sadness. They had gained so much by putting aside feelings that were painful as a couple and yet were beautiful to share as two sensible and feeling companions.

Yamcha was there, standing on the lawn just as he did every Saturday, there to help her mother with more ease and politeness than he had ever shown when they were together. In the afternoon he would train with Puar at his side, just as had become custom. It was weird how comfortable they felt around each other, despite everything between them. She didn't regret her decision and neither did he. Theirs wasn't the tale of love that had run its course and was now twisted into bitterness. It was the shining example of a happy understanding by two people who had gained so much by being together and now chose to be apart.

Her new friend stepped away from her mother a moment to glance up at the balcony. He smiled once, lighting up that scarred and handsome face as he waved. She returned the gesture, and graced it with a smile of her own. Yes, it was so much better this way.

When her life had felt like it was going nowhere, when her brain had started to freeze and become tempted by darker images, no one had been there for her, no one had been able to coax her through it, but things had slowly run their course anyway. She was sure it had happened that way because it was meant to, not because she wanted it to. She was stronger for it, more in control of her life and wiser to what had the potential to harm her. The rest was up to time. She was slowly learning to live with her newfound freedom, learning to give it a special place in her soul, and balance it out with some sense of normalcy.

Peace.

How could one word have so many variants? She was at peace with the situation, riding it out until peace was given undeniably in reality as well as fantasy. She hadn't felt true peace in a long time, not since before Namek, but today… well, today it didn't matter quite as much. When the androids were defeated and Vegeta had left her home she would know the true meaning of the word again and she felt sure she would flourish under it. This day, at least, promised her as much. Peace of the body and mind.

No more uncertainty, no more trying, no more bending over backwards and no more arrogant Saiyans! She would have a mind that no longer yearned for the hearts of dark and indecipherable men. Instead she would be back as Bulma Briefs, strong-willed, and beautiful genius, not some trampled-on adrenalin junkie, with an overstrained and traitorous heart.

She sighed again, looking out across the cityscape and searching for the offending member of the household. The whir of his gravity room was silent. Perhaps that was why the morning appeared more tranquil than most. Her eyes scanned the grass.

There he was, throwing his ominous frame into the peaceful scene. He wasn't doing anything other than lying on the crisp fresh grass, eyes closed and scowl in perfect place, oblivious to how wrong it felt for her to see him revel in the morning sunshine. How did he do it? How did he take so much satisfaction from the gift of her planet and feel no remorse about its possible destruction or hers?

He took so much and gave so little. If it wasn't so annoying it might have been tragic. Was that why… was that why she couldn't get him out of her mind - day or night?

In the beginning she had wanted to find out so much about him, had been consumed in the task of understanding him and his thoughts with the vain hope of trying to influence his nature and show him how life should really be valued. It had been pointless, she could see that now - could see it so completely on this fine, beautiful morning and she sighed for him.

The thought of giving up on him was painful, after all the months she had invested in trying to gain a small connection with him, but when her own heart and peace of mind were in danger, could she really ignore it any longer? She had tried everything to get closer to him and he had refused her advances so many times that now she wondered if retraction was the only option she had left.

What did it matter after all? He wouldn't change; he would never understand what it meant to have proper durable feeling and he would be the only one to suffer for it. He enticed her; he intrigued her, but there was only so much rejection one woman could take. He was a lost cause; no profit from her efforts except her own frustration. That didn't explain away her regret, but it smoothed it over, and gave her hope from other directions and for a future that promised fruition rather than degradation and unfulfilled need.

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe he wasn't lost – maybe he didn't need finding, Perhaps Yamcha had been right all along. Was Vegeta really everything he displayed?

He was cold, he was angry and he was ruthless; but she had seen him as none of her friends had. In careless moments, she had noticed how his drive and determination almost transformed into despondency - perhaps even loneliness. It had been enough to give her hope for his heart, but would she really be releasing a man or merely deluding herself he was something he wasn't?

She had tried to care for him, had even found she could feel affinity to him, but that was as far as it had advanced in months of trying. It was all the more frustrating because she felt sure that if he had given her something back, just once in a while, then she could very well have found it easy to love him, despite his faults.

Perhaps she still did love him, in a weird kind of way, as a housekeeper might learn to appreciate a regular and longstanding tenant.

She sighed, her chest squeezing painfully with it. Sometimes she gave her heart far too freely for her own good.

"Hey Bulma!"

She snapped out of her thoughts and once again registered Yamcha.

"Why don't you come down and help us?" he said, gesturing to the flowers, with a sparkle in his eyes as he held the hose over them.

Bulma smiled back, and nodded. "I'll be right down."

She did just that, stopping only for a second to make sure she looked as good as always. In the colour her cheeks blushed, in the sparkle and light her eyes held she was determined to set the morning on fire, then perhaps Vegeta would notice her and start to open up. Then she would understand him and all this nonsense would end once and for all.

She smiled at her reflection - it was more radiant and clear than she remembered seeing it for months, but she knew it was nothing that Vegeta would appreciate or even acknowledge. Still, she congratulated herself on her clear complexion and practically skipped out of the house. Today was all about fun, and Vegeta be damned, she was going to have it.

"Yamcha!" she sung, as she moved closer, twirling up to him and giving him a friendly hug, "Mum!" she continued, laying a kiss on her cheek.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" chuckled Yamcha.

"Why shouldn't I be? It's a beautiful morning and I'm here with two of the most dear people to me in the world, and you know what?" she said, taking the hose from his slack grip, and bending over to water the flowers. "I'm going to enjoy every single minute of it."

With a playful and quick turn Yamcha found the hose turned on him, soaking his orange gi and making it cling to his muscled chest. He sputtered slightly, the laughter returning, as he effortlessly swiped it from her hands and turned it back on her.

"Ahhhhh!" she shrieked, running along the lush grass, "Do you remember when we used to have water fights in the back garden, Mum? When I was a little girl?"

Yamcha chased after her, keeping up the pretence of not being able to catch his friend.

"You, me and Dad? It was so fun back then, Yamcha! Dad would arm his housebots with water guns and do you remember, Mum? He'd make a race track along the rosebush here and… ahhhhh!" she screamed, as Yamcha levitated above her and let the water run over her silky aqua hair. "W… we'd---"

Yamcha was in peels of laughter, knowing the water was ice cold as it dripped from her hair and down the neck of her summer dress. "You'd…?"

"We'd," she continued, picking up her heels and running again. "We'd have to try and get all the sweets on the course without getting wet," she smiled and avoided another attack.

Mrs Brief tittered, lost in the same memory that held her daughter, "Oh yes, those were fun days, weren't they? I don't think anyone ever did manage to get all the prizes without getting soaked to the skin."

"And we didn't mind either; it would always end in a muddied and soaked mêlée with the hosepipe anyway. We'd laugh and play for hours."

"Who'd win?" Yamcha asked, catching up to her and trying to hold her still, but the water had made everything slippery and she ran across the lawn and away from his grip.

"I'm daddy's girl," she threw over her shoulder, not looking where she was going. "I always w…."

Her foot hit something in the soft grass and she fell.

Not hurt, the giggles returned, as she tried to see through a wet and tangled curtain of aquamarine. "Ha!" she said through a blush. "I'm such a klutz!"

"And that's only the beginning of your failings."

Bulma froze, the laughter suddenly stripped from her lips as the icy words flittered up her spine, as though they had forgotten the heat of the day.

Vegeta sat up from the grass he had been sunbathing on and levelled his muscular upper torso on his elbows. His eyes glared at hers as she splayed her hair back with her right hand. They continued to stare, right through her and into her at the same time.

"Good going, Vegeta!" Yamcha laughed from the distance. "Don't let her escape!"

Those eyes never looked away as Yamcha's footsteps approached.

"I don't plan to," he muttered so quietly only she could hear, letting his eyes fall once more across her shaking and wet body. Then he flopped back down as though nothing had happened.

Something in his eyes and voice had turned her brain upside down and Bulma found that even if she had wanted to, she couldn't move. Yamcha stood over her, chancing a quick glance back at the Saiyan, who caught the glance and sneered his nose up at the human fighter.

"I don't plan on letting any of your species escape."

Yamcha's gaze turned back to Bulma and he rolled his eyes. Bulma couldn't hold herself back and giggled as Yamcha offered her a hand and she stood up. She was covered from head to toe in the freshly cut grass, it clung to her legs, arms - it was everywhere.

"Come on B," Yamcha smiled. "Lets get you indoors and cleaned up. You're a grown woman now," he clicked his tongue. "You have to learn to start acting like one."

Bulma smacked him on the arm. "Hey! Watch it arsehole!" she chided even though she was laughing as hard as he was.

"You know, Woman," Vegeta snarled from beside them. "Clumsiness is an affliction I'm more than willing to cure if you push for it."

He was playing with a small ball of ki in his fingers as he spoke, and when he knew they were both watching, he smirked and flicked the tiny orb with his thumb and forefinger, making a pot plant explode the other side of the garden.

Bulma blinked in disbelief, as Yamcha pulled gently but insistently on her arm. She caught Vegeta's gaze just as he was arrogantly wiping his thumb across his bottom lip.

"Come on, Bulma," Yamcha coaxed. "I think it's time we went indoors," and when she didn't move at first, he pulled a little more persistently, almost dragging her off to the kitchen.

All the way she stayed turned away from her friend, her eyes holding onto Vegeta's. His did the same and he even rolled over, stretched out on the grass belly-down, to keep it there. The usual frown on his lips was replaced with a smirk, and it almost seemed to shine in his usually shut-off black eyes.

Then, just as quickly as it materialised, it was gone, his amusement lost and his arm curled forward to display a white-gloved middle finger.

With more bravery than she thought she possessed she flung the gesture back - a smile of confident defiance adorning her face, as she disappeared behind the kitchen door.

Her legs shook a little as she walked to the sink, wondering whether or not Vegeta was about to burst through the kitchen door. He had done it on previous occasions when she'd unknowingly stepped over the invisible line that circled his pride. He was an angry man with an addiction to power. Fortunately in their few earlier confrontations he had managed to control himself just at the last. It was as though he knew where intimidation and force could get him, and for the time being at least he had made a decision not to let his strength run away with him.

The sponge wiping the grass from her face was secondary to Bulma's thoughts as it glided gently over her cheekbones. The confrontation had made her feel slightly exhilarated now that she could feel secure she had escaped immediate retaliation. There were no explosions, no powerful footsteps approaching, and in the distance the drone of the gravity room signalled her safety as the computer brought itself back up to speed.

Still, she couldn't keep her mind away from Vegeta. The way he had kept meaningful eye contact with her and had lowered his voice, whispering words that only she would hear – it was something she had never known him to do so carelessly before.

Oh, she had caught him watching her on several occasions and she had even returned the action, but he had always had that _frown_, had always retained an air of indifferent dignity, only speaking to shout at her. Out there on the sun-drenched lawn, however, it had almost seemed as if he was enjoying himself rather than trying to unnerve her and Yamcha.

Those traitorous thoughts were back almost instantaneously - the thought of being able to tame that erratic nature, of glorying in its power and presence, and keeping a quarter for herself.

"A penny for them?" Yamcha interrupted.

"What?"

"You've been wiping the same patch of skin for the last five minutes. What are you thinking about so seriously?"

She sighed, looking out of the window as she sat on the work surface. "Vegeta," she said honestly.

"What about him?"

"Do you think it's wrong? You know - caring about him?"

"B-chan, we've been over this before. There's nothing wrong with you wanting to see the best in people. You're not alone; Goku thinks there's some good in him as well, and although it passes me, _if_ in the long run, having someone to care for him makes him become a better person or gives him less reason to cause suffering, then it can't be a bad thing, can it?"

Bulma nodded mutely, trailing the sponge a little insecurely over her arms.

"Besides, why are you still so hung up on this? Didn't you say to me last week that you've decide not to let him get to you anymore?"

She shook her head. "I know, Yamcha, but did you see him then out on the lawn? He almost looked like he was enjoying himself."

Yamcha laughed out loud, "Oh man, Bulma! Give me a break. The only thing I saw out there was Vegeta throwing his power around, quite literally. If that's him having fun then maybe it's best that you do leave him alone."

"I know but--"

Yamcha was right in front of her now, clasping both her hands in his, the handsome lines of his face hardening into rare seriousness.

"Look, Bulma, I know I said it's okay to care, and it is, it's just ..."

"What?"

"Just be careful, B. I know you want to see the good in him, and that's a noble cause, but be careful about wanting it too much, okay? As much as you might want to, you can't find something if it's just not there, do you understand me?"

She smiled. "You think I'm getting used to him and giving him emotions he doesn't have?"

"Well," Yamcha replied, laying his training top on the radiator, "Perhaps, but that doesn't mean you have to stop trying completely. I think you were right when you said you should back off for a little while though. It might just give you some perspective on the situation. You know – like you and I did."

"You're right," she said, pushing herself from the worktop and landing with a sandaled clunk on the kitchen tiles, "Look how wonderfully that turned out."

Yamcha smiled, looking down at her, "It has turned out well hasn't it?" he said, then looking over her arms, "You're still covered in grass."

Bulma looked down. "Aw shit! I guess I'll have to take a shower. Will you still be here when I get down?"

"Sure thing. Puar will be back by then, but I can take a few minutes out from training to relax."

Bulma smiled, shaking her head.

"What?" Yamcha questioned, knowing that look.

"If you relax anymore you'll be asleep."

He looked a smidgen hurt, but Bulma wasn't going to be prevented from saying her piece by it.

"You need to get back to a regular routine, Yamcha."

"Not this again?"

"Hey I'm saying this as a friend, okay? So don't get all uptight. I'm just worried about you. Saturday afternoon seems to be the only time you train anymore. Do you still enjoy fighting?"

"Of course I do. I'm just trying to have some fun after being in Otherworld for so long. You know how boring it was there? All we did was train every second of the day. I'm just taking advantage of the fact that I can go out and enjoy myself. If Death taught me anything, it's that living, feeling, experiencing everything is so much more important than getting stuck in routine. It doesn't mean that I'm unhappy training."

"Well," she said, "If you say so, but just remember, the fight with the androids will be the real thing. If you're not prepared for them then stay away. I couldn't cope with losing you again, okay?"

He smiled and nodded, "Hey, don't worry, I'll be fine. At least I'm not going to kill myself before I even get a shot," he laughed, motioning his head towards the gravity room. "Just don't go comparing me to Vegeta - he's insane!"

"I wouldn't dream of it. You both push your luck to the extremes, but you're no more like Vegeta than I am."

"I don't know about that, Bulma. You both scare me shitless when you get angry."

"Yeah, but that's because you're a wuss, Yamcha." She winked and left the kitchen, chuckling to herself as she climbed the stairs to the family rooms.

He laughed, shaking his head as she left, and walked out to finish helping Mrs. Briefs.

The day had passed well enough. Bulma had been glad of Yamcha's company and although he only spent two of the original five hours training, he had made himself as useful as possible to both her and her mother so as to warrant no further comments on his lack of constancy.

It had become a custom on these training days for the Briefs to have an outdoor barbeque to reward the exertion as the sun vanished behind the city skyline. It was a way to settle down the day and celebrate being together, and even though there was now very little chance of it being a family thing, as her mother had hoped it might, it was still just as comfortable. Then again her mother had had her married off to every single man she had met since coming of age. She'd even had the audacity to put Vegeta in the mix on one very memorable and ludicrous occasion. It was no big deal now. It was simply tradition, and - she smiled, relaxing back on the wooden deck chair, watching Vegeta walk purposefully over to the group – you don't monkey with tradition.

"Well hi there, Vegeta!" her mother greeted with the usual giggles, "I've set your plates out already; just dig in and take what you feel like having."

Over the last six months this had been one of her favourite occasions. This was the time she had allocated for trying to get closer to Vegeta. During the week he ate alone or during office hours so she never had the chance to get close enough for conversation, but on Saturday evenings the lure of the freshly cooked meat always made him suffer the family's company for a few hours.

Snuggling back on the chair, she was about to welcome him in the same way she always did, (with a smile and a "Hi Vegeta") when she saw Yamcha look at her and slowly shake his head. She nodded in understanding and simply put back down her shades. She couldn't be so relaxed about it anymore and she owed it to her own heart to try and see if abstinence worked the miracle that pointed attention never had.

Even though the heat of the day had been lost, the sun was still just high enough above the horizon to set the city aglow in a halo of reds and oranges and throw warm and comforting shadows along the ground. Bulma sighed. _It was so beautiful!_

"Hey Bulma, aren't you having any?" asked Yamcha from the grill.

"I'm not that hungry. Fight it out between yourselves and I'll have whatever's left."

Bulma, enjoying the tamed heat and relaxation if offered, resumed her sunbathing.

It wasn't long, however, before she became uncomfortable. The reason for this was simple. Vegeta. He was staring at her again, and not the stare of that afternoon, but the prideful and arrogant one that seemed to chill the soul. She shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling vulnerable. What was up his arse now? His brow held all the anger of a storm cloud.

In an effort to shake both the feeling and the stare, she got up.

"Anyone feel like a soda?" she asked. "Or perhaps something a little stronger?"

"Oh yes please, Bulma. A soda for me," trilled Puar.

"Yamcha?"

"A beer sounds good to me."

"Mum, Dad?"

"We already have some tea, dear."

Bulma shook her head; her parents seemed to drink nothing else.

"Okay then! One beer and one soda coming up, oh and a bottle of wine for me! Mum, is that Chardonnay still in the fridge?"

Hearing no protests and seeing her mother wasn't even listening to her anyway, Bulma turned into the house.

It was half way between the patio and the kitchen when she first heard the steady footsteps behind her. They were light but purposeful, leaving no doubt in her mind to whom they belonged. She swore silently for not just offering him something. Now she was going to have to ignore him while he was in the same room, not something you could do and make it look like anything other than a slur. She might want to distance herself from him, but that didn't mean she wanted him to think she was deliberately ignoring him. He had too much baggage on his ego as it was.

By the time she entered the kitchen, Vegeta had caught up with her. As she switched the lights on, they flickered a moment and he slipped passed her and to the cupboard where the bottles of wine were kept. Bulma raised an eyebrow. Vegeta had never struck her as a wine drinker.

She was still wondering what to make of him when the cupboard slammed shut. "Where has the liquor gone?" he demanded, not even turning to face her.

"In Dad's study," Bulma replied. "He moved it there when we had Gohan to stay last week."

Vegeta nodded and turned tail. For a man trained in the martial arts he had the drinking habits of an alcoholic. She had very quickly learned it was a part of his routine, no doubt a result of his previously hard and barren life. The alcohol didn't seem to affect him either. It was more like expensive water, not that he knew the value of anything anyway.

Shrugging her shoulders, she moved to the fridge and grabbed the drinks. That exchange was about as far as she and Vegeta ever got. Any conversation he shared with her was mandatory, business-like, and short. There was no elaboration to his demands. It followed three set phases. He asked - she gave - he left. Maybe distancing herself from Vegeta wasn't going to be as hard as she had imagined. After all, he had a natural skill for being aloof and detached. All she had to remember was not to deliberately chase after him or go out of her way to make him feel welcome.

_No,_ she thought, picking up a couple of glasses, and going back outside. _It won't be hard at all._

The evening passed into night more quickly than Bulma had wanted. She, Yamcha and Puar had talked for ages, remembering the adventures of the past, sharing childhood memories and discussing the future. Yamcha had slowly sipped his way through ten beers, and Bulma had likewise managed to consume a bottle of very expensive wine.

She giggled when she realized just how much she'd drunk. It hadn't been until she was saying goodbye to Yamcha, and he was staggering into his flight path with Puar guiding him, that she felt her own intoxication. It wasn't extreme, but her head was definitely swimming a little and she could feel the heat in her cheeks. Taking off her uncomfortable high-heels, Bulma waved until he was no longer in sight.

Her parents had retired to bed a few hours before, not being used to staying up late. The sky was clear and the air still warm from the lovely day. The light of the den was the only one on, and its bright light shone dramatically across the dark lawn. It was such a lovely night and (not being tired) Bulma really didn't fancy going indoors. Instead she walked to the patio decking, sat down and lit a cigarette, staring up at the stars as her drunkenness made them blur a little.

A couple of minutes passed in this manner, until Bulma was disturbed by a noise behind her. She glanced briefly over her shoulder and saw an unmistakable shadow standing in front of the double doors. It sent a shiver through her and she looked away. She'd promised herself she'd show him the same indifference he showed to her, and there was no way she was going to break that promise so soon.

It did nothing to take the chill away, and she knew instinctively that he was watching her. His footfalls were near silent, and it wasn't until he was directly behind her that she even noticed.

Every muscle in Bulma's body was screaming at her to turn around and invite him to sit next to her, but she somehow managed to stop herself. An opportunity like this was something she had been striving for, for so long, and it had never materialized; why did it have to happen now? Now, when she was trying to force her indifference?

"Woman!" he snarled.

She didn't reply.

"Woman," he growled a second time.

"What is it, Vegeta?"

"Go indoors," he demanded.

Bulma smiled, a chance to test her defiance. "No. I'm happy here."

He moved again, this time to stand next to her.

"I said leave," he repeated, with more anger and less control.

"Why?"

"I wish to be alone."

Bulma shook her head. He would have to give her a better reason than that. "Then go somewhere else. It's a big planet."

"Not as big as some. Now move."

In a weird kind of way this was starting to become fun. There was something quite exciting and satisfying in being able to push a little at Vegeta's patience. She had never attempted it before. After all, there was always the niggling thought of being blown into smithereens for the trouble. Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding her judgement, but she actually felt quite safe despite this.

Not wanting to stand, she graced his request with the slightest of sideways shuffles, daring his anger as she continued to stare up at the city's light polluted sky. "There you go."

"You know very well what I meant, Woman. Why are you being so difficult about it?"

"Because it's nice out here… peaceful."

Vegeta didn't reply, and Bulma wondered if it was because he couldn't refute the statement, or because he didn't have the mind to appreciate peace. Either way there was silence, and she was happy that he didn't choose to move away.

"Vegeta?" she questioned, not being able to resist temptation. "You can read power levels right?"

"Yes."

"Has Yamcha's increased in the time he's been wished back?"

The question was left hanging in the air and Bulma was curious as to whether he would answer. Normally if she asked him anything he would leave or at least turn haughtily away. So far he had done neither, and Bulma held her breath, wondering what the outcome would be.

"Marginally," he admitted after a moment's silence.

"Marginally?"

"The fool is a slacker," Vegeta continued with a slight sneer. "If he was applying himself as he ought he would have been twice as powerful by now."

"Applying himself? You mean training to the brink of death like you do?"

"No. No human could withstand my kind of training. I meant any kind of regular training."

Bulma watched him for a hint of a lie, but if there was one thing she could rely on from Vegeta it was the truth, no matter how brutal.

"Thanks," she said. "It was something I needed to know."

Throwing her cigarette butt away, Bulma wrapped her arms around herself, for the first time feeling a little cold, but she still didn't want to move. She was happy Vegeta was talking rationally with her, and she didn't want to break the conversation (such as it was) too soon. She didn't press for him to talk though. Somehow she knew it would be detrimental.

"None of your human friends will be strong enough to defeat the androids, Woman. You do realize that?"

"Really?" she said with a thin smile. "And you're confident you will be able to?"

"Of course. I will be Super Saiyan. Nothing can compare to the elite of my race. I will be the Legendary."

Bulma nodded, prepared to deal with his ego if it meant he was more open with her. "I believe you might be right."

More silence.

Vegeta swirled his drink once and downed it in one gulp. Then he moved away and towards the house.

"Vegeta?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you train after dinner?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea." He paused a moment, turning to look over his shoulder as the light of the den spun around him. "It just didn't seem right. Not today."

When he was gone and she had the night back to herself, Bulma looked up to the stars once again, a small smile on her face. She was strangely happy with the conversation, even though it was short. Anything longer than two sentences from the Saiyan Prince was very rare indeed, and her satisfaction couldn't be kept down.

Was that small 'something' she had been looking for in him closer than she had originally thought?

A/N – This started life as a side project through a particularly harsh period of writer's block. It has grown into my own little escape, and _if_ for any reason I can't work on one of my epics, this is where I go. This story will be completed (chapter two is almost ready, and chapter three in the works) so I hope everyone sticks around for the ride. Let me know what you think.

hugs

Ember

Special thanks go to LisaB for being such a wonderful friend and beta-ing this chapter for me. You're the best girl!


	2. Chapter 2

A Saiyan For All Seasons

Chapter Two

Beauty

Disclaimer: I'm an obsessive compulsive Vegeta fan, unfortunately that doesn't make me Akira Toriyama.

The heat and glare of the summer months had quickly turned into the rusty glow of autumn. The days were getting shorter and a chill was starting to creep into the air around the grounds of the Capsule Corporation. It has to be said that the descent into autumn didn't affect the residents much. There was too much work to be done for them to pay attention to the seasons. Bulma and her father were at the office most days as usual, it was more important recently due to Mr. Briefs impending retirement. Next summer the entire company would be the sole responsibility of his daughter, and the demands such a step made were felt heavily by both of them.

Bulma was happy for this. It was an event she had been looking forward to for several years and it was almost complete. Just a couple more months and everything would be made over to her. Her father's involvement would be limited to overseeing her progress as he took less and less work on. The summer would signal the official transfer. At the moment all their combined efforts were spent overhauling the company and taking stock so Bulma could start a new era in Capsule Corporation's history.

During this Bulma had little time for anything else. Her working week had suddenly become almost the entire seven days. The only time she managed to get to herself were the Saturday evening barbeques because even the daytime was devoted to office and laboratory duties. As a result all personal matters naturally had to take a backseat. Not that she had much of a private life anymore. Becoming a workaholic had its limitations, the most noticeable and sad was her lack of time for friends.

Her friendship with Yamcha was one of the worst-hit areas. His training days had become fortnightly very quickly into the transfer, and she was beginning to see less and less of him as the months progressed. It was painful to see as much, especially when she had made the conscious effort of leaving her Saturday evening schedules free just to see him. There was no company she felt as comfortable with than Yamcha's.

Still she was plodding on as usual and was grateful for the time they had spent apart when he had been in Otherworld. Very quickly she had found herself falling back into the old routine, and as much as his growing absence upset her, she was too strong to let it get to her. Perhaps she could tolerate it a little easier now because although there was decline in one quarter; there was steady progress in another.

Vegeta.

Now she couldn't say there had been any groundbreaking steps made forward in that direction, but there were, without a shadow of a doubt, inroads being made. The first real conversation she had shared with him in the summer, it turned out, was to be the first of many. Nothing really important was divulged in these meetings, but they at least managed to build into something more than snapped orders and automatic compliance.

It was weird because she'd stuck to her guns and did not willingly pursue the matter as she had in the early months. Oh yes – Vegeta was still demanding; he was still arrogant, aloof and proud, but the rare conversations with him seemed to make it a little less offensive.

Vegeta never told her why he wished her to move that evening, but Bulma wasn't the kind of person to give up just because all the answers didn't immediately present themselves. The curiosity had been unbearable and prompted a little detective work. Her bedroom was directly above the den and spending a few balmy nights on the balcony had done the trick. She'd found out very quickly why Vegeta didn't want her there. It was for no other reason than because he seemed to like the spot better for himself.

She had known (through being friends with Goku) Saiyans tended to have more feral instincts than the average human. Take fighting as an example. It was a primitive and natural response all humans were gifted with, but evolution and civilization had tamed the need to fight into a recreational habit, rather than a means of survival. By comparison the Saiyan race had not altered, and although they had become very technologically advanced, the survival instincts were still just as sharp as ever. The need to be the best, the wish to conquer, the desire to fight was all-consuming for them, and in one instance, Vegeta displayed a very strong territorial nature.

His gravity room was one such example. As soon as her father had finished building the damn machine, Vegeta had made it very clear that only two people other than himself were allowed to enter it at any time. Her father was the first, and on the odd chance he wasn't available, Bulma had somehow found herself filling in as the emergency second. Not that she had ever had the opportunity to invade his domain, (the gravity room was all her father's brilliant work and he was protective of his inventions) but he had at least made the concession to include her - a concession that gave her an inexplicable feeling of honour.

The patch of grass outside the patio and the unmarred view of the sky it afforded, seemed to be yet such another place. She would see him there late at night when he thought all the residents were asleep, prowling the spot as though he were trying to figure out the complexities of the universe. His scowl would be relaxed slightly and his mind lost to thought. It had intrigued her to no end, wondering in just what direction his thoughts were being spun, but she knew there was no point in asking. Instead she just let him be, figuring on that point at least, obstinacy would be useless.

It didn't mean, however, she had forgotten her pledge regarding him. She never outright addressed him when he entered a room, instead only talking if he made the first initiation. Of course, most of the time she was disappointed, but in the long run she profited from the change in tactics. Vegeta was a bizarre man. She didn't know anyone else with a personality like that - who almost seemed to naturally become more open with you the less attention you paid.

Still, she didn't want to knock the situation. She'd spent six months trying to get him to open up with minimal success and now, after only two months of not trying, she was making reasonable headway.

It was now freefalling into night. Bulma had been up at six that morning, in the office by seven and more than fourteen hours had passed since then. She'd managed to break away from her duties for only half an hour to get a sandwich before she was called back to crawl under the piles of paperwork once again. Her stomach was now almost growling in time with the minute hand, and although she still had ten files to revise, for today at least, she had to admit defeat.

Grabbing her coat, she left the office for the short walk across the grounds to her family home.

Missing the usual eating hours didn't matter. Her mum was used to living with irregular eating patterns and made sure everyone ate well. If any of the family missed a main meal then it was sealed up in Tupperware, and ready to reheat the moment they returned. Tonight, Bulma was the more thankful for such a step. She really didn't feel like anything other than eating, watching a little television, and then bed. The television wasn't really high on her priorities, but she knew if she tried to sleep straight away her mind would be too busy with work to relax properly.

Easily finding the security locks on the main building, Bulma automatically bypassed them, despite the lack of light. Kicking her shoes off in the hall and laying her handbag on the side, she padded softly into the main kitchen. It smelled delicious and tempted her towards the microwave in curiosity as to what culinary treats awaited her.

There was a post-it-note stuck to the door. Bulma plucked it off and read as she pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, hoping to satiate her hunger enough during the time it took for the food to cook. Rolling her eyes she took a quick glance out of the kitchen window. The note had been for her, simply stating Vegeta hadn't eaten with the family and if she could lure him out of training - to make sure he had plenty to fill his plate. Or as her mother's hand scribbled, "We mustn't let the poor prince starve."

"Well," she said to herself, seeing no lights on outside, "he's definitely not training."

Setting the timer on the microwave and letting it beep into activity, Bulma left the kitchen to the only other place he might be, if indeed he was still on her father's grounds. The den light was switched off, but the chill blowing into the room from the open doors was all Bulma needed to know. Making a point not to call out his name, she simply tugged the thin material of her jacket around her a little more snugly and wandered onto the patio.

He didn't greet her arrival, even when she sat down on the decking, but as she lit a cigarette, and the sound of the flints echoed around the compound, he tilted his head in a slim acknowledgement of her presence.

"How long?" he demanded at last.

"A few minutes," she replied, letting the smoke escape with her words.

He nodded curtly, standing, staring into nothing, with his arms folded and legs slightly apart. It gave his figure a form of authoritative grace. His body really was something else. She hadn't really paid it much attention before. She was used to having fighters around. Bulging biceps and defined abs were nothing extraordinary, but now, as she looked more closely, she had to admit there was something interesting about Vegeta's muscle tone.

Shorter men with such compact muscle structure rarely kept such a slender and agile profile, but Vegeta did. Especially the way his back muscles curved into a trim waist and connected so beautifully with such powerful legs. It really was something she had never seen before; his lack of height actually complimented his figure. The fact he was shirtless didn't do him any disservice either and looked good with his usual royal blue trousers.

"Why are you staring?"

Bulma blushed a little. She didn't realize her attention had been that noticeable.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

Vegeta uncrossed one arm, flexing his fingers as though studying the strength held in them. Cocking his head to the side he said, "I didn't ask for an apology, Woman. I asked for an explanation. Try again."

She chuckled slightly to hide her embarrassment and leaned back on her hands to look up at the stars. "You don't want to know."

"I asked, didn't I?"

Bulma tilted her head to look at him. His eyes were fixed on her as she caught them, and then they drifted slowly over her body. That damned smirk was curled majestically on his lips. She knew there was no way around the truth. He wouldn't tolerate lies. Deceit, she had learned very quickly, got her nowhere.

"Okay, if you really want to know I was just appreciating your body. I've never seen anyone with muscle tone quite like yours. It's a lot different to most fighters."

She said it frankly, no hint of her previous embarrassment to give it false values.

"Being a scientist and around fighters for most of my life, it's an area I am something of an expert in," she continued, proudly flicking her hair. "In theory you should be a lot wider."

"You should know by now that I am the exception to most rules," he drawled. "No creature can compare to a Saiyan elite, especially one of royal blood."

"Perhaps," she said. With a coy smile she added, "Hey! Maybe you'll let me study your physiology at some point?"

He stared at her a moment in shock and then snorted. "Not likely."

She giggled. "I didn't think so."

The wind whistled through the palms, licked around the buildings and crept under Bulma's skin. She shivered slightly and stood up.

Vegeta frowned at her. "Cold?"

She nodded.

"Are all earth women as weak as you?"

"Not all," she chuckled, "but most are, yes."

"And you don't know how to manipulate ki?"

She shook her head.

"Bizarre!" he said. "I have never socialized with ki-less creatures before."

"And what do you make of us so far?"

He was about to reply, but Bulma realized her mistake.

"Nuh-uh!" she interrupted. "No macho bullshit okay? There's no one to show off for, no damage done to your ego if you say what you really think. I didn't lie to _you_. Now _I_ want an honest answer."

His brow creased a moment as he thought over his reply.

"Well," he said, "I have not had the opportunity to meet many of your race. Some of the fighters you call friends are impressive for such a weak species in general, but the majority of your kind are intolerable to me. Some of the females, though," he said, throwing those eyes over her once again, "are not altogether objectionable."

Bulma closed her eyes in acquiescence. "Praise indeed."

He snorted and looked away.

"So," she said, crouching to stub out her cigarette on the leaf-littered ground, and throwing it across the lawn, "I've told you what I think of your body, it's only fair for you to return the favour." She stood and raised her arms above her head, letting her newly straightened hair tumble down. "Don't you think I'm a beautiful woman?"

He didn't reply, but simply let his eyes fall over her. His stare was different yet again. Rather than being cold or playful, it was serious and curious at the same time and although not emitting heat, it somehow managed to make her feel hot.

Then the heat was gone, snatched away with his gaze.

"Well?"

"Perhaps," he said, "though I'd say you were more exotic than beautiful."

"Hmm? Exotic?" Bulma turned the phrase over in her head a few times, wondering what to make of it. "Is that a good thing or a bad?"

He looked at her pointedly - his eyes narrowing. "Both."

She felt a little disappointed. No man had called her looks anything less than stunning, and here was Vegeta, in his very own cuttingly honest way, saying that maybe she didn't look perfect.

He laughed cruelly into the darkness. "It seems I've hit a nerve. What's the matter, Woman? Did you honestly think I would flatter you into something you're not?"

"No," she pouted, "No, I didn't. You enjoy being an arsehole too much, right?"

"Right," he agreed.

"Why exotic?" she urged, actually starting to like the word. It was definitely different from beautiful. It captivated the mind, produced images of Amazonian warriors - or something like that.

"Your colouring is odd," he stated impassively. "It is something I have not come across before."

"Odd… exotic…" she sighed. "but not beautiful eh? A girl could get offended."

"I was not aiming to offend, but beauty is relative, Woman. You're no Saiyan."

"I see," she said, "and Saiyan women are the benchmark of beauty for you are they?"

"As I remember them?" he said. "Yes."

His arms refolded and his posture became more on guard.

"But there are no Saiyan women left – right?"

"Correct," he answered, with a slight growl.

"So excluding Saiyan women or even keeping them in mind, what would you look for in a wife?"

Bulma almost coughed with the effort of trying to keep a straight face. Vegeta was less able. He stared at her in shock for several minutes, before growling out a low, "Vulgar woman!"

"What!" she screeched. "I am not vulgar!"

"No, you just come straight out and ask me what kind of woman I would like to bed. Nothing vulgar in that is there?" he snarled.

Bulma was shocked for a moment, until she realized her mistake, or rather his unfamiliarity with her culture.

She laughed, shaking her head. "I didn't mean it like that, Vegeta. I was just asking what kind of woman you could see yourself settling down with. You know, starting a family with - that kind of thing."

She was still laughing even as she spoke. There was something totally bizarre at the thought of Vegeta settling down, falling in love, and raising a family. It would never happen! Imagining him changing diapers or doing anything even remotely romantic was just insane! He trained non-stop, he'd probably never even looked at a woman in _that _way before.

She turned to look at him, and was startled to see he was actually thinking on it seriously.

"Wife is an alien term to me," he said eventually, "but," he flashed her a wicked smirk. "I have coupled with many women. Some of them have been beautiful, some strong, and some… some sluts between the sheets."

Bulma's cheeks crimsoned at his last admission.

"A little something of all three would be a very tempting proposition in a life-mate, were I ever to take one."

Finding it hard to form words in reply, she missed the moment he got closer. The first she knew of it was when he whispered, "So, can you see why I shouldn't think you beautiful now?" into her ear, pelting her exposed neck with warm breath.

"I guess I should have figured that strength would come into it somewhere. Oh well! One out of three isn't so bad" she said with a wink.

He didn't take long to figure her meaning, and realization dawned on him with a chuckle and a raised eyebrow.

"Well, well," he said, "Now isn't that an interesting development."

Bulma smiled smugly and stepped away, but Vegeta's eyes kept her under close scrutiny.

Fortunately a succession of beeps carried through the open hall and drifted outside. It was the microwave letting her know dinner was ready.

It seemed to bring them both back from a conversation that had escalated very quickly into something very dangerous. Bulma had always wanted progress in her understanding of Vegeta, but this conversation… it had taken things a step too far for her liking. Her body had started to shake in anticipation of what he might do next, and that was oh, so very wrong . . . wasn't it?

Shaking her head and realizing she was going completely insane, she ignored Vegeta and walked towards the open doors.

She shrugged her shoulders. Vegeta didn't find her as attractive as other men might, but that didn't mean she had to be equally unaffected. She had to admit there was something very _appealing_ about him. The thought of bedding the Saiyan prince had never entered her head before, but she had to admit the idea was tempting. His dark power was something she could almost feel run through her when he was close, and she had no doubt it would be an even more amazing experience in closer contact. Certainly his control and perfectionism promised well on the satisfaction side of things, and now she knew he had experience as well, that was a definite bonus.

Once out of the den she sighed in relief, and went to the kitchen. The heat in her cheeks was fuelled by their weird conversation. She had no doubt that he would follow her. Food was on offer. He was like Goku in that sense; he never turned down a free meal. She just hoped she could avoid more of the same kind of conversation. The desire she had felt for him on the patio was far too sudden and real.

Her foresight was proved accurate a moment later. When she reached the microwave, she felt a chill skitter down her back. It was always felt that way. She might not see or hear him enter a room, but she could always _feel_ when his eyes were on her.

She didn't say anything as she served the food, sectioning it proportionally for their unequal appetites. He was there, leaning against the doorframe, watching her as she worked, but (much to Bulma's relief) it appeared their conversation was finished.

Moving from the work surface, she laid his meal on the table. Instantly he moved away from the door and sat stiffly on the chair at the end. Knowing that he didn't like people watching him eat, Bulma retrieved her own dinner and left the room, heading to the lounge and the television time she had promised herself earlier.

She slumped back onto the soft cushions, positioning her food on her lap as she picked up the remote and started to flick through the hundreds of stations her cable company offered. Settling on a music channel, because of nothing else interesting being on, she let the soulful music of some new rock band fill the room as she ate.

She put her empty plate on the coffee table and stretched her feet across the sofa. The music was really quite relaxing and she soon felt her eyelids drooping.

She wasn't, therefore, fully aware of how much time had passed when she next opened them. By then a figure had joined her on the sofa. Wiping the sleep from her eyes she stretched slightly, her feet brushing the material of Vegeta's trousers. At some point she must have unconsciously pushed them under his thighs for the extra heat they offered.

Slightly startled she pulled her feet away, her eyebrows raising a fraction, as she wondered how long he had let her stay that way. She'd never seen him like this before, not doing anything, taking comfort in her father's house. It made him seem almost – normal.

His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second before they were snatched haughtily away. The silence of the house was only broken by the commentary of some reporter on the making of a music video.

It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but Bulma decided to break it anyway. Passing him the remote she said, "Feel free to change the station, I couldn't find anything I liked."

He grunted in acknowledgement, but didn't change the channel. Instead he turned to face her.

"Can I ask you a question?" he inquired.

She smiled. This was turning into an interesting evening.

"Sure - go for it, Vegeta."

"What is a 'wife'?"

He asked it slowly, confusion heavy on his brow.

"You used the term earlier," he continued as a form of explanation. "I presume it has something to do with mated couples, but, I am not sure in what context it should be used."

Bulma was stunned.

"The scarred human fighter," he began again, "you and he once shared mated intimacy is that correct?"

Bulma blushed, although she didn't quite know why. "Yes."

"Does that make you his wife?"

She almost fell off the sofa! "Kami no!" she protested, violently shaking her head. "We were lovers, that's all. We never got married… a good thing too as it turned out."

He looked even more confused.

Sitting upright and leaning a little forward, Bulma tried to explain in more detail. "Well, you see, when two humans like each other a lot, want to raise a family and spend the rest of their lives together, they might decide they want to get married. It's basically a ceremony that shows their devotion to each other, and under the protection of whatever god they might believe in. They exchange vows and become husband and wife."

"So… you and the undisciplined human never performed such a ceremony?" he asked.

"No - Yamcha and I never did."

"But most humans do?"

"Sure! Mum and Dad are married - Goku and Chichi, too."

He looked thoughtful and turned that stare back on her. "Why didn't you get married?"

"Well…" she said, "there are several reasons. For one I didn't know if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Although we had fun together, I guess I knew I didn't love him as much as I ought to. We both knew it, in a way. The sex was fun, but we just realized our relationship was based more on friendship than passion."

Vegeta harrumphed in reply and looked back to the television. "Friendship," he sneered, "Love. They are weak emotions, I do not understand why your species covets them so much."

Bulma sighed. He really was lost to everything, wasn't he? "It's part of being human."

They both lapsed into silence again, and even though he was staring at the television, Bulma could see the creases in his forehead that hinted his mind was otherwise engaged.

"Vegeta?" she questioned.

"Hn?"

"Have you ever had a friend, you know – someone you cared about, and someone who cared back?"

"No."

"No one?"

"No," he repeated.

"Would you ever want one?"

He scowled at her from across the seat. "No."

"It's a pity," she said, standing and stretching her joints into order.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," she said with a yawn, "I think I would have liked being your friend."

Levelling her smile at him, she headed out of the room and to the stairs and her bedroom. She made it half way to the top before Vegeta's low voice drifted up to meet her.

"Woman!"

"Yeah?" she replied, feeling a nervous shiver rush up her spine.

"Do not wish for such foolish things."

Standing still for a moment, Bulma shook her head.

"It's your loss, Vegeta," she whispered, before climbing the stairs once again.

When she reached her bedroom, she flopped down on the freshly washed sheets, and stared up at the ceiling. Her mind focused on the Saiyan downstairs and their conversation. Why did she feel so good around him? She'd always been interested in him, but it was more than that now. On the patio she had received a wake up call like none she had ever had before. It showed her, despite his objections, she already did consider him a friend.

When had it happened – the transition from fear to love? Oh, she wasn't _in _love with him, but she valued his company, took pleasure from being around him. Her eyes slanted as she hated herself for the next thought - she felt an attraction to him. Again her brain disobeyed all reason and wondered what kind of lover Vegeta would be? He'd probably be powerful, demanding and (with his stamina,) go all night. Her cheeks blushed, but her mind kept wondering, and the thought of getting him between her sheets became more and more appealing.

She wasn't looking for love she didn't have time for it, but a lover? Someone she could come home to for raw nights of passion. She didn't want a comfortable relationship - she wanted reckless mind-numbing sex and with no thought to the consequences. Vegeta presented something of an opportunity. He wouldn't be the kind of man for commitment or want anything other than the physical, and that would suit her fine.

Of course thinking about it and achieving it were two entirely different matters. After all, hadn't Vegeta just told her outright that he didn't think her beautiful? It was then she realized, he had never completely said she wasn't. He had called her 'exotic'and asked her if she knew _why_ he shouldn't find her beautiful, but he had never said he didn't. She even remembered he had become somewhat more animated when she had claimed to fill at least one of his criteria in a 'life-mate' as he had called it.

Was there hope for erotic nights of Saiyan-filled pleasure ahead of her? She laughed out loud, her hands covering her face in disbelief. Her imagination really was overactive! It was going to get her trouble one of these days.

She undressed and crawled under the sheets. "Damn him," she yawned, snuggling down into her pillows and letting her tiredness win out, "Why can't I get him out of my head?"

That night she dreamed of being Vegeta's lover. It was to be the first of many.

A/N – This story has been posted on Mediaminer for quite some time and is all the way up to Chapter 16. Therefore you can expect regular updates here. I am editing the later chapters to adhere to the TOS here. This will mean that chapter size will vary greatly.

If you wish to view this story on mediaminer then my name there is Ember.

Thank you LisaB for beta-ing this story and being such a great friend.


	3. Chapter 3

A Saiyan For All Seasons

Chapter Three

I Love You

Disclaimer: Fun, fun, fun… but not mine!

Sleep held Bulma captive by the thinnest of threads. Her feminine limbs sprawled lazily under the cotton-covered duvet as she tried to cling to that precious commodity. The morning was hers. She had the day off, the first for what seemed like months. It was a harbinger of things to come as the chaos of the transfer tamed. This morning she wouldn't wake to the piercing tone of an alarm clock as she had on far too many consecutive days to remember. This morning she could lay in bed to whatever time suited _her_ and she was going to make damn sure to take full advantage of it.

The air was spiced with a mix of musk and vanilla, and she found comfort in the familiar smell. Stretching her arms, and breaking free from the covers, her eyes eventually fluttered open.

It was then that everything went wrong and her world exploded.

Literally.

A deafening noise permeated the soft light and serenity of her vision. The bedroom shook under an unseen force and rudely catapulted her into consciousness. It echoed around the compound and shattered her windows. A cascade of broken glass was sent hurtling across the room, and missed her by less than a metre.

She sat bolt upright in her bed. After a few moments of stunned silence and gasping for breath she brushed back the covers and got up to take a look at the damage.

It wasn't unheard of, (in the time Vegeta had been a resident) for the family to be woken up in this way. It was usually when he wanted a change of pace and felt stifled and restricted by training in the confines of a gravity room. In such a case he would take to training around her father's grounds, not always bothering to restrain his ki as her friends were so accustomed to doing.

Carefully tiptoeing over the broken glass she managed to make it to her wardrobe without slicing her feet. Once there she pulled on a pair of thick-soled shoes, and feeling the icy breeze chasing up her exposed legs, decided on the extra protection of a long winter coat. Buttoning it closed and snuggling into the fur-lined collar, she ventured out onto the balcony.

She surveyed the damage. There was no major harm done, at least not structurally. The gravity room was still in one piece (which was always a bonus) and other than a few broken windows nothing else seemed out of place. She looked around the enclosure and spotted a figure on the grass, just inside the main gates.

To her surprise, however, it wasn't the man she had expected to see.

"Yamcha?" she whispered, her breath misting against the cold air.

She was stunned. What was wrong with her friend? For as long as she'd known him he'd never lost awareness of his power or surroundings, and if first impressions were to be believed, it appeared he'd just done both.

"Yamcha!" she called, "What the hell happened?"

He didn't respond and Bulma was forced to call him again.

"Yamcha!"

This time he did acknowledge her, turning slowly on the shingled drive. His expression was a mixture of shock and bemusement as he looked up to the balcony. He walked forward, and as he drew closer, he lifted from the ground, flying up to meet her.

"Yamcha?" she said as he landed in front of her.

He kept his dark eyes turned away, and she reached out a hand and caressed it down his cheek, hoping to coax him to look up at her. "What happened?"

"I didn't mean… that is… it was an accident."

"Well, I didn't think you did it on purpose." She smiled. "Tell me what's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he said.

"Don't lie to me, Yamcha. You blew out half the windows. It had to be something!"

"I know but I… I can't…. not now. I need to calm down first," he said. "Let me get my head together while you get dressed, and then I'll…" He sucked in a deep breath. "Then I'll tell you everything."

Directing his gaze at her for the first time, Bulma noticed how his eyes were sparkling in the winter sunshine, holding back tears. His handsome features were etched into a frown, and his shoulders slumped into uncharacteristic despondency.

"Yamcha?"

"I'll be fine," he said, looking passed her. "I just need to be alone for a bit okay?"

Bulma wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and force him to let her in, but they weren't a couple any more. It wasn't her place to make the first move. He said he wanted to be left alone, and as a friend, it was her duty to give him the space he needed.

"Okay," she sighed. "I'm not going to force you. But don't you dare leave while I'm gone, got it?"

He wordlessly nodded his agreement.

"Alright," she said, walking back into her room and picking up a Capsule from the dressing table. "I'll just set my housebots to clean the room and then carry on to do the rest of the house."

She let the Capsule explode, and typed in a series of commands into two waiting robots.

"Thankfully my parents are on holiday so you won't have anything to answer to them. I'll call Michelle when I'm dressed and get a couple of my people over to measure up for repairs."

"Thank you, Bulma," he said. "I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble."

"It's no big deal," she replied. "We'll talk about it when you're feeling better, okay?"

He nodded and left the room. Bulma opened the wardrobe and pulled out some warm clothes before disappearing into the bathroom to get showered and changed. Dealing with the unexpected was something she had learnt to live with since meeting Goku, and she might have been able to dwell on the explosion less if Yamcha hadn't looked so desolate. What was wrong with her friend?

By the time Bulma eventually emerged from the shower her room was cleared of glass and despite the cold air rushing in from the empty window frames, it looked normal enough. She calmly put away her dressing gown, turned from the room and ventured downstairs in search of breakfast.

The windows had gone in this portion of the house as well, but it appeared Yamcha had been doing more than just getting his head straight. Bin bags had been hastily stuck to the frames in an attempt to keep out the cold.

He was in the kitchen, laying a bowl of cereal on the table when she entered. He still looked sad, but less aloof and shut off. He even managed to smile awkwardly as she walked over to him.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said, pulling out a chair and offering her a seat.

"I am," she said and sat down. "Fancy talking now?"

He nodded, sitting down in the chair next to her.

"I don't understand," she said, digging into her breakfast. "You've never done anything like this before, not since I've known you. What got you so angry?"

"Well," he began, "I bumped into Vegeta when I arrived this morning."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "And you let Mr. Spandex get to you? Yamcha! You know better than that!"

He almost choked. "Jeez Bulma! Don't make me laugh when I'm trying to be serious."

"Why not?" She winked. "It's a gift."

Yamcha smiled, shaking his head. "Same old, B-chan," he said affectionately. "But it isn't what you think. I mean, yes, Vegeta was a prick, but you kind of get used to it after a while. The thing is he noticed something that it would be almost impossible for someone with normal senses to pick up on. It was a scent, a second one on me. I doubt it's the first time he's noticed it either"

Bulma raised an eyebrow.

"I presume he either guessed, or you told him about our history at some point and he completely misread the situation, but that's not to the point. Bulma," he said. "There's something you really need to know, and I'm not sure how you're going to take it."

She stopped mid-bite.

"I'm seeing someone else."

The statement was left at that. There was no elaboration, even though Bulma waited patiently for something more obvious to come to light.

"And that's it?" she said. "Yamcha, we've been separated for almost a year. Do you honestly think I'd expect you to stay celibate just because things didn't work out between us?"

"Well that's what I thought, but I… I wasn't sure, and with having kept it from you for so long and all..."

"So long?"

He nodded, looking to the floor. "Kiko and I have been going out on and off for about six months now."

Bulma had to admit she was surprised by this confession. Yamcha had been coming to see her, talking so openly about all the troubles he was having keeping up with his training and pulling his life into order, and yet he never mentioned it. She thought he felt comfortable telling her anything. Why had he kept it a secret?

"Okay," she said, putting her spoon down and wiping a hand over her forehead. "Now I'm confused. I'm sorry you didn't feel comfortable enough to share something like this with me, but that doesn't explain why you had to power up and smash all my windows!"

"No!" he protested. "That's not why it happened. Let me explain! I didn't want to keep Kiko from you, not at all. I tried to tell you on several occasions – Kami, I tried, but other things kept coming up, you know - your work, my training, so I kept putting it off. I knew you'd be cool with it, but knowing was one thing, and telling you was another. It was harder than I thought."

"Is that why you stayed away?" she asked.

He nodded. "It was easier than not being able to tell you the truth, and the longer I left it the harder it got, because then I knew I'd been lying to you as well."

She sighed, shaking her head. "Oh Yamcha!"

He looked out of sorts, more so than his explanation warranted. She watched him as he played with a loose thread on his jumper.

"There's something else isn't there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Yamcha. I know you better than anyone. You're still hiding something from me aren't you?"

He stared at her, the same expression he had displayed earlier, creeping back onto his features. "You're right," he admitted. "I came over today with every intention to set things straight once and for all, never mind Vegeta's interference, but he managed to hit one big home run truth. He said that 'lying to you was dishonourable' and you know what? He was right! It was then, as he was walking away that I finally understood why I was finding it so hard to tell you, and that's what made me angry."

He smiled painfully through shining eyes.

"I think you might already know, after all you were always good at picking up on these things. I… I didn't want to tell you because I knew it would be the end of you and I if I did."

Bulma frowned. "What on earth are you talking about? There is no _us_, at least not in that sense."

"I know, but don't you see? Something like this takes our friendship to a whole new level. For all those months I never even noticed it, and when I realized it scared me. I saw all the years we'd been together. I saw all the fun we'd had, all the moments we'd shared as a couple and I felt angry that we weren't going to be able to do that anymore. Being a secret from you had almost made the sex with Kiko exempt. I didn't see that she signalled the last line of our relationship, Bulma. But then – when Vegeta told me so openly that I was being dishonourable - I knew the true reason I'd been lying to you. It wasn't because I was scared of telling you; it was because I was scared of what I might feel if I did. I thought I was enjoying my new life; I thought I was happy with Kiko and that I loved her, but I was wrong. I can see that now. She's different, Bulma…but she's… she's not you."

Bulma closed her eyes willing him not to say it.

"I still love you – I still love you, B."

She put a hand to her mouth, standing abruptly and turning away. "Don't say that Yamcha," she snapped, feeling sick to the stomach. "Please, not now."

God! After everything they had been through, after all the conversations, all the congratulations on making a clean break, here he was telling her that maybe they had been wrong. Didn't he realize what he was doing? What she had been through without him. How she'd spent weeks wondering if she'd made the biggest mistake of her life, of wanting him back and wanting to find security in his arms even though she knew it was a lie to both of them.

My god hadn't he heard a word she'd said? She'd told him the truth. She didn't love him, not that way; that she never had, and hadn't he said the same? That their relationship had all been about having fun, of being together and sharing a roller coaster ride for two through adolescence? Wasn't he the one who had called it off? Wasn't it him who had said they'd reached a stage where they had to grow up and look at the bigger picture? Wasn't he the one who had drawn the line on Kame island's sandy beach and shown her that they only had two options left - separation or marriage?

Did he realize how many sleepless nights she'd spent agonizing over it, of leaving that life behind, and then all the black days after, of learning to be content and happy with her own life, rather than bouncing and flinging her emotions off his. How dare he! How dare he turn around and say this to her now… _now_ when her life was her own, her heart free, how dare he!

"Don't say it," she whispered.

"I don't want to Bulma," he snapped. "I don't want to. I'm so angry with myself!"

He walked away, bracing both hands on the work surface and looking intensely at the laminated top.

"You know it's strange. I thought it would be good for both of us to settle down. I had all these great plans. I'd find a girl, get married, and start a family. I'd quit baseball, find a proper nine to five job and live out this comfortable, happy little understated life with them – finding comfort in my family like Goku and Chi Chi do. But I understand now. I'm not like them. I don't want commitment - I want fun. I want fun like you and I once had! I can see that you're changed Bulma, and I'm happy for you - I am. I'm glad that one of us can find happiness in this mess. That's why I blew out the windows. I was angry. I saw for the first time that there's absolutely nothing I can do to change the way I feel about you, and my anger – I let it get out of control."

He smiled as he turned to face her.

"But I'm not sorry. Not now. I'll pay you for the damage if you want but I actually feel better for it, you know, like all this was supposed to happen, and that in the end we'll both be better for knowing it. My life might be a complete screw up because I was stupid and let the most precious thing I ever had slip away, but I'm not going to let it stop me from living my life. And it's not going to stop me from wanting to be your friend. You are still my friend, aren't you?" he asked.

Oh Kami! How could he even doubt it? His words gave her mind the extra reassurance it was looking for. He wasn't trying to destroy their friendship, not at all, just understand his own emotions better. Maybe she had been wrong about their mutual understanding. She'd always thought he'd dealt with his feelings a lot quicker than she had, that it hadn't been as hard for him, but it all made sense now. For all those dark days when she was teetering on the edge of madness because she couldn't place her love for him, he hadn't even thought on it, and it was only now, when he was forced to consider his feelings carefully, that he was starting to deal with the repercussions of the step forward they had both made.

"Of course I am, you knucklehead!" She smiled. "I'll always be your friend."

He smiled back, wiping a tear away that refused to stay unshed. Bulma felt her stomach clench and a dampness invade her own eyes.

"And I'm right, aren't I?" he continued. "It can't ever be the same as it was, can it?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No."

He sighed. "I don't like having regrets. I always promised myself that I never would, but I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner."

There was a content smile on his lips as he looked at her. Like he had just opened up a part of himself he had never seen before and was starting to appreciate it for the first time.

"How about you?" he asked. "Do you have any regrets?"

Bulma laughed lightly. "Well I'm starting to regret saying you could come over today, Yamcha. I mean, holy shit! You don't do things by halves do you?"

He chuckled. "Never have done - never will do." There was a pause. "So?"

"Not for myself," she admitted, "but, yes, I have one."

"What is it?"

"Just that after everything, after all these months, you still haven't found the happiness you were looking for."

"Hey!" he said, grabbing her in a hug. "Don't you dare make yourself unhappy because of me, okay? I'm a survivor. I always have been. I still have Puar, I still have baseball, and I still have my martial arts. I'll get over this eventually. I know I will. I just have to be strong and look to the future."

"Do you think staying away for a while will help?" she asked, happy to let him hold her.

He shook his head. "I doubt it, besides someone needs to keep an eye on you. Are you still courting death by trying to make headway with Vegeta?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not really trying as such. Sometimes he'll talk to me, but most of the time he won't. We've had a few good conversations. Do you believe it? Good, proper, sensible conversations!"

"Wonders may never cease," he said, full of sarcasm.

"Alright, it's not much, I know, but he's actually not so bad when he stops with the attitude and the insults."

Yamcha held onto her a fraction tighter. "You like him, don't you?"

"What?"

"Vegeta. You like him."

"Don't be silly! I put up with him, Yamcha. There's a big difference."

"If you say so," he said.

"I do!"

"You know what's really bizarre?"

"What?" she asked.

"I actually think he likes you."

"Yamcha," she chuckled, "are you smoking something? Vegeta doesn't _like_ anyone."

"My point exactly."

Bulma rolled her eyes.

"No seriously. He was pretty weird, you know, about smelling Kiko's scent. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was angry with me for it. Would it be totally off the wall to think that maybe you _have_ made steps forward with him, more so than you think?"

"It's possible, I guess, but how do you mean, 'angry'? What did Vegeta say to you?"

"I already told you most of it. All I was doing was calming my nerves before I came in to see you, and then he walked around the corner, sneering as he passed me. I didn't think anything of it, but when I looked up a few minutes later he was still there. His back was facing me, and I didn't think he was paying me any attention so I moved to walk away. He told me not to move, and then turned to look at me over his shoulder. Those damn eyes of his, they're enough to give grown ups nightmares! They seemed to hold me to the spot, and that's when he said it - the whole 'lying to you' thing. Of course I said I didn't know what he was talking about. I mean it was Vegeta! The last thing I wanted to do was risk my neck by socking our relationship on him. He made it clear very quickly and very abruptly that I needn't lie to him as well, and then he went!"

Bulma was in complete and total shock. The blunt quality to the conversation, sounded like Vegeta, but the contents? Were they to be believed? Yamcha, of course, had no reason to lie to her, not about something like that. So it had to be real. Without even realizing it, a smile spread across her face. "That bastard!" she sighed.

"He is that," Yamcha chuckled. "But hey, Bulma! Could you do me a favour?"

"Sure, anything."

"Well. Could you let him know that we're not sleeping together anymore?"

Bulma couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was he serious?

"Well, as far as I can tell," she began, "he already knows. I remember explaining the principles of marriage to him not so long ago. Man that was weird! You don't forget a conversation like _that_ very quickly."

Yamcha laughed out loud. "I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall, but are sure you explained fully. I mean our relationship – it's weird for most people to understand, let alone a Saiyan. Besides, if I'm gonna have fun now instead of settling down, then I plan to have as many different scents on me as possible."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "And people say _I_ have an ego problem."

"What I'm trying to say here is that I don't want Vegeta threatening to send me to the next dimension every time I come round with a girl's scent on me, if you catch my drift?"

Bulma raised an eyebrow. "I doubt you'll have to worry about that Yamcha. The only thing you have to understand about Vegeta is he's always looking for a fight, and that he'll use any excuse to get one. I wouldn't read too much into it. There's no second guessing that man."

They lapsed into silence, and Bulma became a little uncomfortable when she realized Yamcha's arms were still holding her.

"So… can I finish eating my breakfast now?" she asked, pushing gently against his grip.

He blushed, opened his arms and let her go.

"Sure thing."

He left her side and walked across the kitchen. Switching the kettle on and taking a cup from the rack, he set it down on the worktop. "You want a coffee?" he asked.

She replied in the negative, and several minutes of silence ensued. It was interrupted by an all too familiar sensation and Bulma turned, not surprised to see Vegeta standing in the doorway, staring at her. She followed his gaze at it drifted across the room to Yamcha and then back again.

"Where's your father?" he asked.

"He and Mum left last night."

"Left?"

"Yes. Don't you remember? Dad told you the other night to go careful on the GR because he wasn't going to be around to fix it." She raised an eyebrow. "You _were_ listening to him, weren't you?"

"Of course I wasn't. Being 'careful' will not make me Super Saiyajin."

Bulma sighed, wiping her hands across her eyes. "What have you done to it?"

"Nothing," he said. "As far as I can tell there was a power overload."

There was silence as both their gazes turned simultaneously on Yamcha. He gulped, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"Uh… sorry?" he ventured, trying not to meet either's glare.

Bulma stifled a laugh. "Of course, it's only insulated from internal power surges."

Vegeta was less able to control himself. "Fucking great!" he snarled.

"Hey, don't sweat it," Bulma interrupted. "Sit down, have some breakfast and I'll get changed into my overalls. I'll have it fixed in no time."

"No."

"No?" Bulma felt a little injured at the way he said it so absolutely. "Wasn't it agreed by both you and Dad that _if_ for some reason he wasn't available, I'd stand in?"

"I was humouring the old coot," Vegeta said matter-of-factly. "You," he said, pointing a gloved finger, "will not touch it."

"Hey! Hold on a minute, Vegeta," Yamcha interjected. "Bulma's just as gifted as her father, perhaps even more so. She knows what she's doing."

"I am very well aware of her capabilities, Human. That is not the problem."

"Then what is?" Bulma asked.

Vegeta's countenance stiffened as he pulled his arms proudly over his chest. "My training is of no concern to you. That is all. Call your father immediately and have him return."

Bulma smiled, slowly shaking her head. "It's not going to happen, Vegeta! He's on holiday. The first one he's had with Mum in over four years. There is absolutely no way I am going to ruin it for them, especially since I can fix the GR just as easily myself - and," she added, standing, squaring her legs and defiantly sticking her chest out. "After everything they've done for you over the last year – you aren't going to ruin it for them either, are you?"

He didn't reply, only looked haughtily down his nose at her.

"Are you?" she persisted, trying not to let those charcoal eyes affect her. They seemed to pin her, initiating an invisible battle of wills.

For longer than either was aware, the battle raged on.

Yamcha had been blinking in confusion between the pair for almost five minutes, when Vegeta finally relented. The first Bulma knew of it was when the faintest hint of a smirk graced his features. Then the stalemate was ended and Vegeta's smirk transformed into the usual frown.

"No," he snarled, with obvious displeasure. "I will not."

"And you'll let _me_ fix it in his place?" she demanded, holding her glare.

"It appears I have little choice in the matter," he snapped, pushing away from the wall and walking towards her.

Bulma tried to tear herself away from those impenetrable eyes as he advanced but it was one of the few things she consistently failed at. The fire instantly rushed through her body as he took a break from his stride. Through peripheral vision only, she caught a glimpse of his mouth as it curled, and he whispered the word, "impressive" so quietly she was sure it was meant for only her to hear.

Then in a breath he was gone, brushing passed her as though she wasn't even there, and walking inconspicuously towards the fridge.

"I expect all work to be done swiftly and accurately," he said. "The intensity of my training requires absolute perfection."

She turned to face his direction, a smirk pursed on her lips. She ruffled a hand casually through her hair and said, "Would you expect anything less than perfection from me?"

He stared at her as he put a carton of orange juice to his mouth and drank. "It is usually best to expect nothing, Woman," he said, wiping a gloved hand across his lips. "There are no grounds for disappointment that way."

Bulma tried to block his image out of her thoughts. It had to be the damn lips, the ones she had fantasized about for the last four months, the ones that she had imagined covering every inch of her body with desire and heat.

"Well," she replied, as her cheeks crimsoned, "there really is nothing to get worried about. It's probably nothing more serious than a few burned out fuses. It's not rocket science. I'll be in and out of your hair in no time."

Vegeta simply sneered and turned away, and Bulma took it for her cue to leave. Any more of that and she was sure she'd give herself away. If Vegeta could pick up scents on Yamcha, then she was sure he could pick up on variations in hers as well, and that was too embarrassing to think on.

"Are you sticking around, Yamcha?" she asked, putting her breakfast bowl in the sink.

"I can't," he said, sipping on his coffee. "I'm supposed to meet Kiko this afternoon, and I think we have a few extra things to talk about now. I'm gonna go home and try to figure out what I'm going to say to her."

Bulma smiled. "The truth will do," she said. "No need for anything less."

He nodded. "You're right."

She turned to leave but a hand caught her shoulder. Yamcha had walked swiftly across the room, and having laid his half drunk coffee on the side, was ready to walk out with her.

"Thanks for listening," he said, as they left Vegeta behind and ventured into the hall.

"You're welcome. Just don't lie to me again," she chided.

"No worries and I meant it you know. I'll pay for the windows."

"Yamcha, you know I don't want your money."

"I know," he agreed, "but I'd feel better if you took it."

They were at the front door now. "Well," she said, "I'm not going to argue with you about it."

"Good, then it's settled." He leaned over and gave her a parting hug. "See you, Bulma, and wish me luck."

"You won't need it," she said, turning out of his hold and starting up the stairs. "Take care of yourself."

"Will do."

She turned briefly to see him staring wistfully up at her. She felt the same sadness and regret that she had confessed to earlier. She forced out a smile and waved him goodbye, and she disappeared up the stairs and to her bedroom for yet another change of clothes. It wasn't even midday and she'd already had her share of weird. Now she was about to go to work on a gravity room she had never even touched before. With the regular occupant demanding nothing less than perfection from her, was her day about to get even weirder?

A/N – This was the first chapter I had to dramatically edit to make suitable for this site.

Mega thanks go to LisaB for beta-ing. She is awesome!


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